Hymn for the Missing
by Shakespeare's Lemonade
Summary: Oliver returns to Starling City with no memory of the past eight years except for Malcolm Merlyn rescuing him in the mountains. As he tries to remember who he is, he gets different stories from all sides and questions who he can really trust and who he became in all that time. Takes place after 3.09. Olicity.
1. Prologue: six months ago

Hymn for the Missing

Shakespeare's Lemonade

Rating: T

Genre: Mystery/Angst/Friendship/Romance/Family

Summary: Oliver returns to Starling City with no memory of the past eight years except for Malcolm Merlyn rescuing him in the mountains. As he tries to remember who he is, he gets different stories from all sides and questions who he can really trust and who he became in all that time.

A/N: Set after 3x09. Title comes from a Red song. Someone named BeijingDoll made a great Olicity fanvideo to it on YouTube.

Pairings: Mentions of past Oliver/Laurel but endgame is Oliver/Felicity. Probably mention of Tommy/Laurel and Thea/Roy as well, but I haven't decided on those pairings.

"_Where are you now? Are you lost? Will I find you again? Are you alone? Are you afraid? Are you searching for me? Why did you go? I had to stay. Now I'm reaching for you. Will you wait? Will you wait? Will I see you again?"  
>~Red<em>

_Prologue: six months ago_

There are no words for this kind of agony. It's a special kind of chaos; of anger and fear and gut-wrenching sorrow all colliding and fighting for dominance. The concept of coherent thought or expression is utterly negated by the overwhelming onslaught of raw emotion. She has never felt this way, never felt _so much._ Can the human brain even process this much _feeling_?

But it's not her brain that hurts. It's her heart. Literally. There has been a sharp clenching sensation in her chest ever since she heard the news.

Oliver Queen is dead. Oliver. Her Oliver.

He can't be dead. Can't be gone. But he is.

Felicity would rather feel nothing that feel this. It's as if her heart is trying to claw its way up her throat, and she's half inclined to let it.

She knows somewhere in the back of her mind that Oliver wouldn't want this. Her suffering would kill him. But he promised to come back. He promised he would win. He didn't. He's dead. And Felicity died up there on that mountain with him.

As dead as she is inside, she can't seem to stop living. She hasn't slept or eaten since Merlyn came to the Arrow Cave the night before last. Her mind won't stop running through scenarios of what could have happened, what she could have said. She sits on the floor of her living room and screams his name until her voice is gone, and the tears won't come anymore because she's dehydrated.

Maybe the worst part is not that she's in pain, but that she's acutely aware of that fact. Her mind won't just shut off and let her suffer in peace. She can't stop thinking about it.

Yet still, there is the nagging almost intrusive feeling that he can't be dead—that Oliver is invincible, indestructible, absolute. It doesn't help that they have no body. Knowing that Sara "came back from the dead" twice leaves Felicity with a gaping lack of closure. But she feels that he's dead, and she's knows that's not very scientific, but no matter what, she can't seem to pull herself out of it.

As if in defiance of the world crumbling to pieces around her, someone knocks on the door. Felicity stares at it from her spot on the floor. She doesn't move to answer it, doesn't even twitch. A seemingly eternal space of silence passes.

Then a voice calls from the other side. "Felicity? It's Roy."

She knows he knows how to pick a lock, and she just about makes him, but he would only do that if he were afraid something had happened to her. Something had, but not what he might think.

So, Felicity stands up, knees cracking, and goes to the door. The fact that she's in her pajamas and hasn't showered in two days doesn't really bother her, but the look on Roy's face when she opens the door says it all: she's a mess. She knew that, but she doesn't like the confirmation. Not that he looks great either. The bags under his eyes say he hasn't slept either, and Felicity is shocked that she has the energy to care.

"Hey," he says lamely. "Do you mind if I hang out here a while?"

She does, but she's not going to say that. She wants to be alone, but she shouldn't be, and he probably knows that. Without saying anything, Felicity stands to one side of the door and lets Roy inside.

"Where's Dig?" she asks, not bothering to hide the pain in her voice.

"With his family," Roy answers. "But you and me... well, I don't have any family, and your mom's in Las Vegas and she wouldn't understand anyway, so..."

"Roy," Felicity stops him. "You're starting to sound like me with the rambling."

It would be funny if they weren't both so devastated. Neither cracks a smile.

"You think we should tell Thea?" Roy asks as they sit on the couch.

Felicity isn't prepared to have this conversation. She isn't prepared to have any conversation. She wants to curl up in a ball and die.

"I don't know," she says. "I don't know anything."

Then Roy says what Felicity has been thinking for the last two days: "You think he's really gone?"

There are so many things she could say to that, but she settles for the facts. "Why would Merlyn lie?"

"Why wouldn't he? He's always got some agenda."

"But he wanted..." He wanted Oliver to win, but Felicity can't say his name.

"Yeah," Roy concedes. "Guess this is a loss for him too."

"Don't even think about comparing."

"I'm not. I just mean... He didn't get his way. You know, that whole 'enemy of my enemy' thing he was going for."

"Except we didn't have a problem with the League of Assassins until Merlyn made it a problem."

"I'm not saying he's not a snake. Just that you're right—he's got no reason to lie about this."

"Is that supposed to make it better?"

"No, I just... I wish we could know for sure."

"Is this how everyone felt when he disappeared the first time? Like the world suddenly came to a stop and nothing made sense anymore?"

"I don't know. His family never talked about it much."

"This can't be happening," Felicity whispers, more to herself than anything.

"Yeah," Roy agrees. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

**~oOo~**

It's a long train ride into Starling, but far less conspicuous than hopping off a plane with a lot of security and witnesses. No one is going to notice a guy in a bulky jacket and baseball cap at a train station. No one will remember or identify him.

When the trip is finally over, it feels anticlimactic. The city looks different in the way any city would after two years. Nothing special.

Tommy Merlyn shrugs off the boredom as he heads for the storage lockers across the station. He paid a rather unsavory but discreet guy a lot of money to find him a place and leave the keys in locker 42. Along with them is a slip of paper with the address of Tommy's new home on it. Everything has been arranged through a series of intermediaries. No one knows anyone else's name. Tommy never thought he would be that good at keeping secrets, but that's part of a long list of things he never thought he'd do. Faking his death for one. It hadn't been intentional, but it's become convenient lately.

It's the news of Oliver's disappearance more than anything that brings Tommy back. More like rumors about the Arrow, but it amounts to the same thing in Tommy's eyes. If Oliver isn't out there fighting crime, then something is wrong. Especially since Tommy's father is still out there somewhere, undoubtedly with new plans to cause chaos.

Tommy finally understands. He gets what Oliver was doing all that time—that lonely, thankless job that gave him more trouble than satisfaction. It's not about being seen as a hero by the masses, or even being considered a decent person by your closest friends. It's something deeper that propels people to become the monster that the other monsters fear. Tommy isn't sure how long he can stare into the abyss before he becomes something more like his father than like his best friend, which is his whole reason for coming. He needs to find Oliver quickly. The one thing Malcolm never had was someone to hold him back from the edge, and Tommy suspects that it's Oliver's friends who separate the two.

If only he had a single lead to go on. Tommy can't help feeling a little pessimistic as he drives through the city. He doesn't really know where to begin with Oliver, other than actually going to his friends, but Tommy isn't ready to do that yet. He's been dead too long to just reveal himself to anyone. He always thought that if he ever came back, it would be Oliver that he saw first. Maybe it was the way Oliver watched him die that made Tommy want to perform some kind of reversal, to show up and somehow make everything better.

He's more cynical than that now. He doesn't know why it took him so long to become so, but he's almost sorry for it.

**~oOo~**

The last thing Oliver sees is a pair of deep blue eyes before falling off the edge of the Earth.

He shoots upright, reaching for anything solid amongst the rough sheets. He finds a wooden bedpost and grips it tightly as he can to remind himself what's real. He's not sure about anything else right now.

"Hey," a familiar voice cuts through his confusion. "It's all right. You're safe."

Malcolm Merlyn sits beside him and puts one hand over Oliver's chest as if to forcefully slow down his breathing. His other hand rests on Oliver's shoulder.

They're in a small log structure that consists of one square room. Perpendicular to Oliver's bed is another narrow bunk. Across from that is a fireplace and a thick wooden table.

"Where are we?" Oliver asks, trying to stand. His legs don't see to want to cooperate, though.

"What do you remember?" Malcolm asks, pushing him back into a sitting position and getting up to retrieve a small bowl from the table.

He hands the bowl to Oliver and sits on a small stool across from him. In the bowl is some kind of nondescript soup, and Oliver is suddenly aware that he's hungry.

As he eats, he wonders: what does he remember? The fall? No, that was a dream. Before that...

"There was a storm," Oliver says. "I was on my dad's boat. How did I get here?"

Malcolm looks somehow shocked and pleased all at once, which is odd. "You don't remember anything after the boat went down?"

"What? Went down? No, I don't even remember that. There was a bad storm, but..." Oliver sets the empty bowl aside, and actually manages to stand, though he's terribly wobbly. "What happened?"

Malcolm's expression changes to one of obvious pity. "Oliver, that was eight years ago. You were the only one to survive the shipwreck."

Eight years. The only survivor. His dad is dead. Sara is dead.

"No..."

Oliver takes a step and almost falls over. Pain radiates from his right side and he half falls back onto the bed.

Malcolm puts a hand on Oliver's arm and looks him in the eye. "You were severely injured three weeks ago. You have to take it slowly to regain your strength."

"Three weeks? What..."

"I know this is a lot to take in, so don't think too hard. Your memory loss is probably the result of the trauma you've suffered."

"What happened to me?" Oliver asks flatly.

Malcolm shakes his head and squeezes Oliver's arm. "Try to rest," he says. "We'll have plenty of time to talk."

All at once, that seems like the best idea Oliver has ever heard, and he doesn't think to wonder what was in the soup as he loses consciousness again.

* * *

><p><strong>This is very much a work in progress, and I don't know how often I'll update, but I wanted to get this out there before 3.10 airs. Let me know what you think.<br>**


	2. Faceless

**Chapter One "Faceless"**

Felicity draws circles on the corner of a file folder as she stares blankly at a screen full of information she should have been through a week ago. Her work performance (or lack thereof) has not gone unnoticed. Ray has asked her several times what's going on. She's given up bothering with excuses, choosing rather to ignore the question and talk about something work related. She knows he's aware that she's pushing him away, but she doesn't care. He's stopped trying to get her interested in his plans to help the city or much of anything really.

Felicity can't help him anyway. She's given up on saving the world. She made that choice six months ago when Laurel showed up at the Arrow Cave and wanted their help.

"_I'm going to keep fighting," Laurel says. "I know Oliver is gone, but he wouldn't want us to give up."_

"_What exactly are you suggesting?" Diggle asks. "You wanna fight all the bad guys yourself?"_

"_No, I want you to help me. I don't have the kind of training the Oliver or my sister had, but I'm getting there. I could use a team, though."_

"_How can you do this?" Felicity asks. She doesn't look at Laurel, and rather stares at the wall from her chair. "How can you just jump back in? I mean, you loved him, didn't you?"_

_Felicity finally looks at Laurel as if daring her to deny it, and almost wishing she would._

_However, Laurel's expression only hardens. "Guess I've just gotten used to everyone I love dying. The way Oliver was going, it was only a matter of time."_

"_How can you say that?" Felicity's voice gets louder as she stands. "How can you stand there and pretend to be some kind of hero when you've got no hope left in you?"_

"_I'm facing reality here. Hope isn't going to save innocent people. I am. And any of you who decide to help me."_

"_I'm sorry Laurel," Diggle says in his calm, voice of reason tone. "I'm done."_

"_I'm not," Roy says. "This is all I got, so I'm in."_

_Felicity shakes her head. "I can't be here anymore. I can't... look at this place and do the things I did when... when he's gone."_

_Felicity pushes past Laurel and walks away. Her footsteps echo on the stairs, and Diggle soon follows her. They reach the alley behind the club before Felicity turns to face him._

"_Don't try to change my mind."_

_Diggle looks surprised that she would suggest it. "I'm not," he says. "I understand completely. Why do you think I'm getting out?"_

"_Well... because of your family. Because..."_

"_Because in the beginning, it was just Oliver and me. With him gone..." Diggle sighs as if searching for the right words. "It's not what I signed on for. I joined Oliver because he needed me. Nothing against Laurel, but she's not him. She doesn't want the kind of help I have to offer anyway."_

"_What, the unsolicited advice? No, I don't think she'd appreciate that like—like we did."_

_Felicity still can't say his name. She wonders if she ever will be able to._

"Hello?"

A hand waving in Felicity's face jolts her out of the memory. She jumps back, ready to throw her pen at the assailant.

"Hey!" Ray steps back and puts his hands up defensively. "I know you've been kind of out of it, but this is ridiculous."

"Sorry," Felicity says, trying to regain composure. "I was..."

"Daydreaming? Because that's cool. It can enhance creativity, but that's not what this is about, is it?"

Felicity bites her lip and sets the pen down, noticing the layers of scribbles and the pile of unfinished work.

"It's about Oliver Queen, isn't it?"

Felicity's head jerks back up to look at Ray. "What?"

"I heard he was missing. I know you two were friends—"

"No, um, I mean, yes we were—are. I..."

"Look, if you need more time off—"

"I've had enough time." Felicity stands. "The only thing worse than not doing anything is being constantly aware of the fact that I'm not doing anything. And I'm sorry about... this. I'll try to do better."

"That's not why I'm here." The compassion in Ray's voice is suddenly apparent and heart-wrenching.

"Oh." Felicity busies herself straightening her desk.

"Hey." Ray reaches down and puts his hand over Felicity's. "I know you don't want to talk to me about it, but... talk to someone, okay? I'm always here if you need me."

Felicity looks up again, trying not to blink because then the tears will fall. "Thanks," she says. "I just... I really need to get some work done."

Ray nods and lets go of her hand. "Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

Felicity nods, and Ray turns to leave. She's grateful that he chose that moment to make his exit because she's not sure she could have held out any longer. He's right. On so many levels. She can't keep this up forever, and she does need to talk to someone, but the one person she wants to talk to more than anything is gone, and he's not coming back.

**~oOo~**

There are a lot of things Oliver notices being different after eight years. Little things that feel like big things. His voice is deeper. He does this funny thing with the thumb and first three fingers on his right hand. Like a nervous tick he never knew he had.

There are bigger things too, of course. The scars that cover his body tell of a very violent eight years, and as much as he tries, Oliver can't seem to get it out of Malcolm what happened. Like what he was doing on that mountain and why someone stabbed him. The wound has healed now, but it was a long road. The past six months had been spent regaining his strength. For some reason, Malcolm thought Oliver would need to be in excellent physical shape before their return. Oliver could have walked off that mountain months ago, but he knows Malcolm must have had a reason.

The drive back into Starling City is something else that's changed. The city seems older and darker. When the car doesn't take the familiar road to the Queen mansion, Oliver's long list of questions gets a new addition.

"Where are we going?" he asks.

Malcolm sits across from him, gazing out the window indifferently. "To see your sister," he says.

"Why isn't she at home?"

"Oliver, Thea is 21 years old. She lives on her own now."

"What about my mom?"

"I'll let Thea explain."

"You know, you keep saying that. Why won't you tell me what's going on?"

Malcolm turns and regards Oliver with that same pitying look he always gets. "There's too much to explain all at once," he says. "I don't want to overwhelm you."

"We had six months."

"Some things are better coming from the source. A lot has changed, and I want you to be as prepared as possible for the shock."

"Malcolm, what happened to my mother?"

It's not that hard to figure out, really. Malcolm hasn't talked about Moira Queen at all, always saying he would get Oliver back to his sister or that Thea was waiting for him. In fact, Thea is the only person Malcolm has mentioned directly which leads Oliver to fear that more people are out of the picture than just his mother.

"Thea can explain better than I can," Malcolm says as he turns to face the window again.

Oliver knows the conversation is over then. Malcolm has this way of shutting down when he doesn't want to talk about something. He's always been that way, now that Oliver thinks about it. At least, he has since Oliver was eight years old.

Thea's apartment is near the center of the city in a fancy high rise. Oliver plays back the conversation with Malcolm in his mind, focusing on the part about Thea being an adult. She was only twelve the last time he saw her. A little girl. He can't imagine how much she must have changed. Malcolm had called to let her know they were coming, but Oliver had to wonder how much of a shock his appearance would be to her. He hasn't seen a mirror in six months, but he gets the feeling he probably looks older at least. Malcolm had made it sound like he hadn't been gone all those eight years, so maybe it won't be as big a surprise for her to see him.

As the two of them ride the elevator up to the top, Oliver can't help thinking about all the training Malcolm put him through to get back here. It hadn't made any sense at the time, and it still doesn't. Malcolm would only say that Oliver had to be ready. But ready for what? Why did he need to know how to swing a sword? And why had it come so naturally to him?

The elevator tone sounds and the doors open, chasing away Oliver's thoughts for the moment. He follows Malcolm down the hallway to the only apartment on the entire floor. Malcolm knocks twice and waits. It only takes a few seconds for Thea to answer the door, as if she had been waiting nearby in anticipation.

Oliver barely recognizes her. She immediately hugs him, which emphasizes everything about her that's changed. She's too tall. Her short hair brushes against his face. Her arms seem too strong as they hold him tightly. When she says his name, he has to remind himself that her voice changed too because she doesn't sound like Thea.

When she finally lets him go, Oliver looks into her eyes, and that's where he sees it. His little sister is still in there beneath those familiar blue irises so like his own. They aren't the phantom eyes from his nightmares, but he takes that as a good sign.

"I'll leave you two to catch up," Malcolm says and turns to head back to the elevator without waiting for a reply.

Thea pulls Oliver inside. At first, he's taken back by the sheer size of the place. Of course he remembers their house being much bigger, but there were more people there too.

"You live here alone?" he asks.

"No, I live here with you," Thea replies with a slight frown creasing her brow. "Malcolm said you didn't remember much."

Oliver nods slowly as he continues to gaze around the vast room. "He said I came back for a while. That I wasn't stranded the whole time."

"Yeah, you came back three years ago. You were stuck on an island before that. You really don't remember anything?"

Oliver turns to face Thea again, having to remind himself this is his sister. "Before Malcolm found me, the last thing I remember is the storm. I don't know where I was or what I did or... or what happened here."

Now that he's here, Oliver doesn't want to ask. He doesn't want to know what happened to his family that made Malcolm refused to talk about his mother. He wants to keep thinking that she'll show up any minute and tell him everything's going to be okay like she always did.

"Maybe we should sit down," Thea says, gesturing toward the living room.

Oliver doesn't want to sit down. He doesn't want to talk. He wants to run away. Ever since he got back into the city, he's had a strange compulsion to get away from... something. Or maybe it's to get _to _something?

Thea moves over to the couch, and Oliver follows her, pushing away the inclination to escape. He has to face this, and it's best to get it over with. He sits down next to his sister, and she pulls her feet up under her. As much as he wants to relax, Oliver can't and remains stiff, sitting on the edge of the cushion and flexing his right hand instinctively.

"When you came back, things were different," Thea says. "You were different. Mom was remarried and I was a mess. Nobody quite knew how to handle it." Thea pauses as if trying to decide how much to say. "Things got worse later. I don't really know how to explain it all, but..."

"Mom's gone, isn't she?" Oliver says. He doesn't look at Thea. He can't stand the thought of all that pity and sadness in her eyes.

"Yeah." She says it like a sigh. "A little over a year ago. She was protecting us, Ollie. We had a lot of issues with her, but in the end..."

"Who else?" It may have been the fact that Malcolm hardly talked about anyone Oliver used to know, but he's sure that his mother isn't the only person he's lost.

"Tommy," Thea says.

Now it all makes sense. Of course Malcolm wouldn't want to talk about it. Oliver barely remembers when Mrs. Merlyn died, but he knows it changed Malcolm. He had always been distant after that, traveling and working all the time.

Thea puts her hand on Oliver's arm, and he almost jerks away before reminding himself this is his sister. He doesn't know why he feels so uneasy with her. She's the last family he has, but something seems off. He knows there's plenty she's not telling him, but he hadn't expected everything at once.

"Maybe..." Thea starts. "Maybe you should get some sleep, and we can talk more tomorrow."

Oliver nods because he has no reason to argue. He's not really tired, but he follows Thea's directions up the stairs and to the left to find his room. The two outer walls are made of glass, and the glare of the city lights is a strange distraction after being away from civilization so long.

Oliver finds pajamas in the top drawer of the dresser, just where he always kept them. As he pulls them out, he hears something heavy slide across the bottom of the drawer. Moving more clothes aside, he sees a military style knife lying there. Why does he keep a weapon in his bedroom?

Oliver sighs and runs his free hand over his face before closing the drawer. It's just another in the long line of questions he has no answers to.

**~oOo~**

Felicity turns off the TV when she realizes she's been staring off into space for two hours. Her Chinese takeout sits on the couch beside her half eaten and cold. It's been coming on for a while, but it hits her all of the sudden that she's wasting her life here. She used to think she was doing something good, something worthwhile, but anymore she goes to work and comes home and wonders if anyone would notice if she disappeared. She still sees Diggle from time to time, and she knows Ray would care, but it's hard to see that when she's sitting alone in the dark having lost the one thing that made her feel so alive.

And she thinks it should get better, that she shouldn't always be trapped in despair, but nothing's changed. The pain she felt the first time she heard the words "Oliver Queen is dead" is just as strong now as it was then. Only now she's had more time to think about it, more time to analyze and understand _why _she feels it. It's not so much that she didn't realize she loved Oliver, but she hadn't let herself think it in so many words until after he was gone. She held a part of herself back because she was afraid of the inevitable rejection. She still loves him, but there's nowhere for that love to go, no worthwhile cause to pour it into.

She's stronger that this. She knows she is. Her whole life cannot be completely derailed by one man. But that's exactly what's happened. Oliver is gone, and somehow without really knowing the exact moment or how it happened, Felicity died with him.

Felicity shakes herself and stands up. She should go to bed, but she knows she won't be able to sleep. Leaving the house probably isn't a much better idea, but she pulls on her shoes and grabs her purse anyway.

She doesn't know where she's going; she just gets in her car and drives for a while. At night, the city slows a little, but there are still a few people out. Felicity finds herself straying away from the more populous areas and driving toward the edge of town. It's a familiar drive, but one she hasn't made in over a year. The driveway is still six miles long.

Felicity gets out of her car and stands still for a second, remembering the times she was here before. The former Queen mansion is still vacant. There's dust in the windows, and the shrubbery is overgrown. Off to the left side of the house, Felicity sees Robert Queen's gravestone, gleaming faintly in the moonlight. She walks across the untended lawn toward it, and when she stops, she sees the place where Oliver's stone has left the ground uneven. Even though it's gone now, Felicity feels like this is the closest thing to a grave he will ever have. There had been no body—just a bloody sword and the never-ending silence.

Kneeling in the grass, Felicity gazes at the empty space. There should be a memorial, something to let the world know he mattered. Instead it's just Felicity here feeling like she's the only one who really knew him. It's not true, but she's not thinking clearly now and hasn't been for a long time.

"Where are you?" she hears herself say in a small, frightened voice. "Why won't you come back to me?"

The impassive earth makes no reply. Robert's headstone seems to glare at Felicity as if questioning her presence here. Everything is silent; there is no wind in the trees, no traffic on the highway.

Felicity allows a strangled sob to escape her throat. This is all there is now. As much as she tries to hear his voice in her mind, to smell his scent hovering in the air, there is nothing.

**~oOo~**

Oliver stands in front of the mirror, unable to tear his eyes away from the reflection. He's seen the mysterious scars plenty of times, but taking everything in at once leaves him stunned. He runs his hands through his hair, thinking he'd really like it to be shorter even though it's no longer than it was when he left. Eight years ago.

Seeing his own face for the first time, Oliver finally believes how long it's been. There are lines in his forehead that didn't used to be there. His mouth seems to more naturally want to frown that smile. And his eyes seem dark somehow.

Part of Oliver still wants to believe this is all a dream. That he will wake up any moment, and life will be back to normal. He can't possibly be living this nightmare.

He hears Thea's footsteps on the stairs, but he doesn't move from his place. He still can't look away from the mangled mess he has become.

"Ollie?" Thea's voice call out.

"In here," Oliver replies.

Thea comes to stand in the open doorway of the bathroom, holding a stack of clean towels. "You okay?" she asks.

Oliver finally turns to look at her. "What happened to me?" He doesn't recognize his own voice, so small and lost.

Thea sets the towels on the counter and puts her hands on Oliver's arms. "I don't know," she says. "You didn't like to talk about the island. I think... I think there were bad people there who hurt you, but I don't know why. I'm not sure you even knew."

"Some of them aren't that old." Oliver tilts his head down as if to indicate the fresher scars.

"You did wreck your bike a couple of times after you came home."

"I don't think so."

"What?"

Oliver points to a scar on his shoulder. "This one looks like a bullet wound."

Thea's eyes widen. "You think you got shot? Why wouldn't you have told me?"

"I don't know." Oliver shakes his head. "Whatever it is I don't remember—it's bad, Thea."

"Okay, well—we'll figure this out, Ollie. All right? You'll be okay. I promise."

Oliver nods slowly, and Thea pulls him into a hug. He holds on for as long as he can. She's the only thing that makes even a little sense right now.

Eventually, she lets go and leaves him there. Oliver tries to distract himself with anything else. He showers, but the whole time, he's still thinking about what happened to him and how he's supposed to figure it all out.

Once he's finished in the bathroom, he doesn't get ready for bed. Instead he find a clean pair of jeans and long sleeved shirt. Then he puts on his shoe and find a brown leather jacket in the closet. He doesn't know exactly why he's going, but he knows he has to. Thea has gone to her room, but Oliver isn't sure whether she's sleeping or not. He tries to be as stealthy as possible as he descends the stairs and heads for the door. He feels bad for sneaking out, but he's not sure she would understand; and after months cooped up in that cabin with Malcolm, Oliver needs some space and freedom.

He finds his motorcycle in the basement garage of the building right where he would expect it. Malcolm had given him his keys when they came back to the city, though Oliver does think to wonder where Malcolm got them.

It doesn't take long to get out of the city. Oliver hadn't realized until now how claustrophobic he feels being surrounded by all those skyscrapers and traffic. He credits it to all that time in the mountains, but there's something else, nagging at the back of his mind that tells him there's another reason for his discomfort.

It's a long drive out to his old home, but Oliver barely notices the time. From the long driveway, everything looks the same, but as he gets closer, he can see that the place isn't lived in. Though, perhaps more unsettling is the little red car in the driveway. Oliver parks behind it and scans the area warily. He doesn't see anyone at first, until movement in the yard catches his attention.

There's a woman coming toward him, moving faster as she gets closer. Oliver can't tell much about her in the darkness, except that she's blonde and wears glasses. He slowly leaves the shadows of the carport to met her at the edge of the lawn.

She's breathing heavily as if she's been running, and she seems to be trying to say something.

"Oliver?" she finally chokes out.

He doesn't recognize her voice, though there's something oddly compelling about it. He doesn't have time to respond before she takes the last few steps between them and hugs him so tightly he almost stops breathing. Not knowing what else to do, he gently puts his arms around her and hopes she'll stop sometime soon so he can figure out what the hell is going on here.

When she finally does let go, she's sniffing and Oliver can barely make out tears on her face. She knows him, that much is obvious, and he hates to ruin this reunion of sorts, but he has to know.

"Who are you?" he asks.

The look on her face is worse than he expected. He was thinking confusion, but this is more like betrayal.

"What—what's going on with you, Oliver? It's me."

He shakes his head. "I don't remember. I don't remember anything."

She gasps and puts her hand over her mouth.

"Please," Oliver says, hating himself for causing this poor girl more distress. "I don't know who you are."

"I'm..." she trails off, unable to continue.

Perhaps this had been a terrible idea after all.

**~oOo~**

Tommy watches from the treeline and can't help smiling in spite of the situation. All his waiting had paid off. Watching Thea's place had seemed like a waste of time, but here he is. Oliver is back. Tommy had followed him from the city, hoping to make his presence known soon, but the snippets of conversation he's able to hear between Oliver and Felicity make him rethink that.

It's not clear how much Oliver has forgotten, but if he can't remember Felicity, he certainly won't remember the Arrow or the Undertaking or all the horrible things Tommy said to him before his apparent death.

This changes things. Tommy still plans on contacting Oliver soon, but not now. He will have to be much more careful in his approach.

In the meantime, Tommy intends to discover just why someone as hardheaded as Oliver Queen is having memory problems in the first place.

* * *

><p><strong>So, I plan on updating this whenever I have new chapters finished, which means it's going to be sporadic. Sometimes I write really fast, and sometimes I don't. I just don't want to be tied down to a particular schedule on this one since I haven't planned out all the details. Hopefully everyone is okay with this arrangement. As always, let me know what you think of the chapter. <strong>


	3. Shadows Growing in My Mind

**Chapter Two "Shadows Growing in My Mind"  
><strong>

Felicity paces two steps back and forth while her mind runs through all the possible explanations for the situation in which she now finds herself. Surprisingly, she's even too preoccupied to babble. Oliver—if he even is Oliver—watches her with a wide-eyed expression she's never seen before.

"You don't remember me," she finally says matter-of-factly. "Which means you probably don't remember Diggle or Roy."

"Who are they?" Oliver asks.

Felicity holds out her hand to stop him. "Give me a second."

She keeps pacing, filtering variables through her mind as if it's a computer. Somewhere, there's a connection, a reason for all this.

"Unless you're a clone!" Felicity suddenly blurts out.

"I'm _not _a clone," Oliver insists.

"Exactly what a clone would say." Felicity stops in front of him and stares into his face. He looks too much like the real thing.

"You're... odd," Oliver says, leaning away slightly. "You don't actually think I'm a clone."

"You don't remember the last three years—"

"Eight," he corrects her. "Eight years. I can't remember anything after the shipwreck."

"Wow, that's... oddly specific. Where have you been the last six months?"

"On a mountain. Someone stabbed me, I think, and... I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Because you know me. I mean, if you really are Oliver Queen, you know you can trust me. And whatever is going on here is so messed up you're going to need people you can trust."

"I _don't_ know you. And as for trusting you... maybe you're telling the truth, but how should I know?"

Felicity bites her lip. How can he know? If she had forgotten all about him, she probably wouldn't trust him just like that. The very thought sends a shiver through her whole body. Or maybe it's the night air.

"Okay..." Felicity says slowly. "We just have to figure out what happened to you and how to get your memories back. You used to do this meditation thing. Roy could help with that. Hey, how did you survive up there alone anyway?"

"I wasn't alone," Oliver says. "A family friend helped me."

Family friend? What friend of the Queens could possibly have—

Felicity's jaw drops. "Malcolm Merlyn?"

Oliver raises his eyebrows. "You know him?"

It happens before Felicity can even realize she's making a choice. She quickly dismisses any thoughts of telling Oliver the whole truth right now and settles for something innocuous.

"We've met," she says.

"You don't sound happy about it." Oliver may have lost his memory, but he's still perceptive when he wants to be.

"It's a long story."

"So I keep hearing. Nobody wants to tell me anything. Most of my family is dead, my best friend is gone... Is there anything that hasn't gone wrong in the last eight years?"

Felicity has to think about that. She could tell him that he's a hero, that she loves him. But she doesn't know what good that will do. He needs to find out for himself.

"I think it's probably better if we try to bring your memories back," she says. "Instead of just telling you everything because that would take far too long and be incredibly confusing."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

"Like I said, there's a meditation technique you learned in Hong Kong or something."

"Wait, when was I in Hong Kong?"

"I don't know exactly. You were vague on the details. I need to call Roy."

Felicity reaches for her phone, but Oliver's hand shoots out and grabs her wrist before she can dial. Even he seems surprised by this and quickly lets go.

"Sorry," he says. "I just don't..."

"Of course!" Felicity drops her phone back in her purse. "You don't want to talk to more people you don't remember. I'll... take you to see Laurel."

Felicity doesn't realize she's made the offer until the words escape her mouth. Oliver looks like a conflicted mass of hope and terror. He still thinks he's in love with Laurel and that she hates him because of Sara.

"Right, brilliant," Felicity says mostly to herself. "This would _have _to be much more awkward than it should be."

"Are you sure it's... a good idea?"

"You know what, I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. You're the one who makes the decisions around here. Or you were. And I'd talk to the guys about it, but you don't know them, and I'm really trying not to make you feel completely lost in all this, and Laurel seems like the best person to talk to right now. Oh, and that whole thing with—well, you know—that's not such an issue right now. I know the shipwreck was like yesterday for you, but you and Laurel are on—well I won't say good terms because you don't agree about a lot of things—and why haven't you shouted my name to shut me up yet?"

Oliver stares at Felicity like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. "Because I don't know your name," he says.

Felicity's heart sinks. She should have known that. For a moment, she had gotten lost and expected him to be the same old Oliver that she knows is in there somewhere.

"It was the first thing you ever said to me," she says absently. "You walked into my office and—" Felicity shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. We should go. I'll drive."

Felicity doesn't wait for a reply. She can't look into his eyes anymore and know that he's not really seeing her. Not like he used to. She gets into the driver's seat of her car and stares straight ahead as Oliver follows and sits beside her. Thankfully, he doesn't ask any more questions. Felicity doesn't think she would be able to speak without crying. She's just hoping to make it through this drive and praying that there's a way to get her Oliver back.

**~oOo~**

The cramped passenger seat of a strange woman's car isn't exactly where Oliver expected to be tonight. He still doesn't know her name, and for some reason, she seems reluctant to tell him. Or she's just that distracted. She keeps her gaze forward, to the point of not checking her mirrors when she probably should. As late as it is, there's hardly any traffic, so Oliver figures he can let it slide without the threat of dying in a fiery crash.

He tries not to squirm in his seat and create further awkwardness. This is made more difficult by the fact that the seat is too far forward, but it's been a few minutes, and he doesn't want to adjust it now. This also tells him that he doesn't ride in her car a lot.

The more time that passes, the more Oliver begins to feel as though he's going to explode. He doesn't like being confined like this. It makes him nervous, though he's not sure why. He keeps looking over his shoulder and out the window as if he expects something dangerous out there.

Eventually the silence becomes too much. The girl driving the car is far too tense, and Oliver thinks she might actually rip the steering wheel from its column if her knuckles get any whiter.

"Are you okay?" he asks. He's always been soft spoken, and it's an advantage now since he doesn't want to startle her.

She does jump slightly before glancing over at him and making fish-like motions with her mouth for a moment. "I... no," she says with the kind of honesty in her voice that Oliver is sure he's never heard before from anyone. "I'm really not. I thought you were dead, and now you're here, but you're not... you. I'm not sure which is worse—I mean, not that it would be better if you were dead. Of course not, but you're still... gone."

"Who are you to me?" The words slip out before Oliver has the chance to think about their implication. He sees the pain in her eyes when he asks, and he wishes he hadn't said anything.

"I'm your friend," she says.

But there are tears in her voice. Somehow, this is more important than just friendship. At least, the kind of friendships Oliver used to have. There's something else between them, some shared secrets or hardships that she can't talk about. Oliver mentally kicks himself for hurting her. It seems like that's all he ever does—hurt people.

They finally come to a stop outside of a modest apartment building. It's a nice place, but nowhere near the extravagance of Thea's loft. The stranger gets out of the car and leads the way to the front door. She has her phone out and is texting someone as the approach.

"The doors will be locked this late," she explains. "I'm letting Laurel know to come let us in."

"She won't be sleeping?"

The girl shrugs. "Maybe. She'll want to see you sooner rather than later."

"See, I don't get that. You... you know what I did, don't you?"

"Yes. Like I said, it's not really an issue anymore. You've both moved past it."

"How am I supposed to do that? I haven't had time—"

The lights in the lobby come on, distracting Oliver, and he sees Laurel coming toward the glass doors. She looks different than the last time he saw her. She's thinner and she walks like she owns the world. When she sees Oliver, her eyes widen, and she hurries to open the door.

"Ollie," she gasps and throws her arms around his neck. She's much stronger than he remembers. "He told us you were dead."

She's happy to see him. Oliver can feel her pulse beating rapidly where her neck is pressed against his, and he doesn't know why he notices that. She pulls back, holding him by his shoulders and searching his face as if for a sign that he's still in there.

"Who told you?" Oliver asks.

"Merlyn. He found the sword—"

The other girl coughs and Laurel looks over at her questioningly.

"Oliver doesn't remember anything after the shipwreck," she says bluntly.

Laurel turns back to Oliver with a new look in her eyes. It's a lot like pity. "Ollie... what happened?"

"I woke up with a hole in my side," he says. "Malcolm was there. He saved my life. Why would he tell you I'm dead?"

Now Laurel looks worried. "This can't be right," she says. "What's his game?"

The question is directed back at the other girl, and Oliver is feeling distinctly out of the loop.

"Maybe we should talk inside," the girl says.

Oliver really needs to come up with something other than "the girl" to call her until he figures out her name.

"Good idea," Laurel agrees.

She ushers them inside and up a few flights of stairs before they reach her apartment. Along the way, the two women talk about people Oliver doesn't know. He's heard the names several times now, but he still has no clue who Roy and Diggle are. Laurel mentions her father a few times, and Oliver doesn't know what help he could possibly be. Aside from maybe putting Oliver out of his misery perhaps. Just because Laurel seems to have no lingering issues about Sara doesn't mean her father is going to feel the same way.

Once they're inside, the stranger goes into the kitchen to "make tea and phone calls" while Laurel shows Oliver into the living room.

"Did you just get back?" she asks as she sits down.

"Yeah." Oliver stands by the window, looking out into the dark. "I saw Thea, and... I got restless I guess."

"You ran into Felicity at your old house?"

Felicity. Her name is Felicity. It seems... right somehow.

Oliver merely nods in confirmation.

"When we thought you were dead, she... didn't take it well."

Oliver turns to face Laurel. "I can't imagine why. I'd think most people would be glad to be rid of me."

Laurel looks angry for the briefest of moments. "That's because you don't know who you are. Who you became. You're different, Oliver. You're not that selfish kid who left on that boat."

"Who am I then? No one seems to want to tell me that."

Laurel leans forward with her hands on her knees. "You're a good person. You help the city instead of leeching off it like your parents and so many others did. I don't think I can explain it in a way you'll understand except to say that you've changed lives. Everyone who knows you will say the same."

"Everyone? What about Tommy? He's dead right?" Oliver knows he shouldn't be so combative, but he's tired and frustrated, and Laurel is the only one who can seem to give him any answers.

At the mention of Tommy, she takes a shaky breath. "He may be gone," she says. "But you've honored his memory in a way that would make him proud."

"You're right," Oliver says, turning back toward the window. "I don't understand."

The girl—Felicity comes back into the room and sets three teacups on the table. "I sent Roy over to pick up the bike. I thought maybe we should wait until tomorrow to try retrieving your memories. So you can get some rest."

"He should probably see a doctor," Laurel adds. "He could have some kind of head trauma."

"My head feels fine," Oliver says, a little annoyed that they're talking about him like he's not there, like he doesn't get a say.

"It's still worth getting checked out."

"I said I'm fine."

"Oliver?" Felicity's voice comes across like a gentle push. "We just want you to be yourself again. We want you to be okay."

Oliver looks at her and he finally sees something he didn't notice before in the dark. She has the bluest eyes. The way she's looking at him, he can't help feeling that he does know her. It's there at the edge of his consciousness like the dreams he can never quite remember. He tries to grasp at the memory, but the sensation fades as quickly as it came.

"I think the truth would be a good start," Oliver says. He knows there's more they aren't telling him.

"Then maybe you should sit down," Laurel says, picking up one of the cups of tea. "'Cause it's a really long story."

**~oOo~**

It's not really a conscious choice, not something they talked about before hand, but Laurel and Felicity share the unspoken agreement that they aren't going to tell Oliver about the Arrow just yet. Explaining Malcolm's attack on the city, how Tommy and Moira died, and all the other personal tragedies Oliver had faced since he came back from the island seems like more than enough.

Laurel isn't sure she can explain Oliver's reasons for becoming the Arrow when she doesn't fully understand them herself. It's almost funny to think that all of Oliver's secrets are now a mystery to him as well.

By the time they're through telling the simpler parts of the story, it's almost dawn. Oliver finally stopped pacing a couple of hours ago, and is now sitting in a chair across from the couch. He looks exhausted as he props his hands up under his chin, lost in thought. Felicity has just finished telling him about Malcolm being Thea's father and all that entails.

For a long time, Oliver doesn't say anything. He's got so much to process, Laurel really doesn't expect him to respond. His eyes are fixed somewhere in the middle distance, and not for the first time, Laurel wishes she knew how to pull him out of this. But it's been a long time and a lot of mistakes since she's been able to get through to him.

She turns to Felicity as if expecting to find some kind of answer there. But Felicity is watching Oliver with a look of quiet agony in her eyes. She can't reach him any better than Laurel can because Oliver doesn't remember her.

Oliver rubs his eyes, and as his hands run down his face, Laurel can see that he's trying to make sense of everything and failing. None of them can help him there. The more they ask themselves why all these horrible things happen, the more the silence grows. There are no answers.

Laurel stands and collects the empty cups off the coffee table. She feels like she should be keeping busy even though it's four-something in the morning. Oliver's presence in her living room makes it feel like all the fighting she's been doing for the past six months has been for nothing.

Felicity follows Laurel into the kitchen. "I need to go talk to the others," she says. "I know I haven't been all that involved lately—"

"I'm sure we could use all the help we can get," Laurel replies. "It's just been me and Roy."

Laurel puts the cups in the sink and turns on the faucet. She hadn't meant to sound so pathetic, but she's tired and more than a little out of her depth.

Felicity hands her the dish soap. "I shouldn't have left," she says softly. "I should have known he'd be back."

Laurel shakes her head, focusing on the foaming suds as she rinses off the cups. She doesn't want to confess that she knows why Felicity had to go. She understands. But part of her still doesn't want it to be true. It's not that Laurel is still in love with Oliver, but she was once, and the thought of someone else being the most important person in his life stings. It's like an old wound that only hurts when the weather changes.

"You should take him home," Felicity continues. "It's probably better for him to be around somebody he knows right now."

Laurel sets the clean cups in the other side of the sink and reaches for a towel. She glances over at Felicity and sees a tiny reflection in the corner of her eye. Laurel doesn't need to ask to know that Felicity is torn up about this. She remembers vividly when Oliver stopped loving her. Except in her case, there was no memory loss involved. Felicity still has a chance if they can fix this thing.

"Right," Laurel agrees, drying off her hands. "I'll meet you back at Verdant later."

Felicity nods and heads for the door. Laurel doesn't watch her go, but she can imagine the slow steps and slumped shoulders. The image doesn't leave her head after the door closes and Felicity's footsteps fade down the hallway.

Laurel puts the towel away and returns to the living room to find Oliver exactly where she left him. He has his fingers peaked in front of his mouth, and he doesn't move as she walks toward him except to look up at her.

"I'm going to take you home, okay?" Laurel says.

Oliver gives her a miniscule nod, but makes no move to leave. Laurel wishes Felicity hadn't left yet. She would know how to snap him out of this. Laurel takes a few more steps and puts her hand on Oliver's shoulder.

"Come on," she says. "You should get some sleep, and Thea will be worried."

That seemed to do the trick because Oliver got that cold, hard look in his eyes that he seemed to have most of the time before he disappeared. He stands, and even the way he walks is different. He isn't the confused, insecure boy who walked in a few hours ago. Laurel knows he's still lost on the inside, but he exudes an emotionless detachment. As if he has to be strong now and bury everything else inside.

Laurel wants to tell him he doesn't have to be like that, but she doesn't know how or if he would even listen. It's been a long time since she's been able to influence him the way she used to. So she leads him out the door in silence. They walk out together, but Laurel feels as if he's miles away, as if he never came back at all.

**~oOo~**

Her training, if that's the right word, has left Thea a very light sleeper. Sometimes, Malcolm would get her up in the middle of the night to spar, even attacking while she was sleeping. So, when the front door opens and closes, Thea is instantly alert. Oliver should be in bed, and Malcolm wouldn't be sloppy enough to let her hear him come in.

Thea throws back the covers and hops out of bed, landing lightly on her bare feet. She knows where the wood floor creaks and avoids those spots as she makes her way out into the hall and toward the stairs. She's surprised when she hears voices, and even more so when she notices that they belong to Oliver and Laurel.

Thea huffs and gives up on stealth, making more noise than she needs to as she descends the stairs.

"What the hell is going on?" she asks. "I thought somebody broke in for a second."

Oliver turns to face her, and he's got that same look he had before when he came back—like he doesn't know her. He masks it quickly, but he doesn't remember how to be a good enough liar to hide it completely.

"Sorry," he says. "I just... had to get out."

"You should have said something."

"And you would have argued with me. Like this." A faint smirk touches Oliver's lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Thea gives up. "You know what... Never mind. You should get some sleep."

For Thea this is the end of the conversation, and Oliver seems to pick up on the fact that he's being dismissed. He looks like he might resist, but he just nods and heads upstairs. Thea doesn't make the mistake of thinking she's gotten through to him. She knows how he gets when he just doesn't want to bother arguing.

Laurel lingers in the doorway still, and Thea isn't sure why. "Thanks for bringing him back," she says. "I guess he told you about what happened."

"What, that he can't remember the past eight years?" Laurel replies. "Yeah, I got that."

Thea doesn't know why Laurel has such an antagonistic tone, and she's not sure she wants to. She'd rather end this conversation and go back to bed.

"Listen," Laurel says more quietly, "I know he's your father, but you can't trust Malcolm when it comes to Oliver."

Thea wants to be angry at Laurel for sticking her nose into things, but she's learned how to control and bury such messy emotions. "Why would you think that?" she asks instead. "Malcolm cares about Oliver because he's my brother."

Laurel shakes her head. "I can't explain it, but you have to believe me. Malcolm isn't Oliver's friend, and if you want to help your brother, you're going to have to see that sooner or later."

Laurel turns and walks out the door, closing it harder than she probably needs to. Thea stands there in the entryway for a moment, thinking about what Laurel said. She knows that Malcolm's only redeeming quality is that he loves her. For her that's enough, and up until now, she has believed it is enough for Oliver too. She isn't sure what she believes anymore, but it's going to take a lot more than Laurel's vague warning to change Thea's mind.

With a sigh, Thea ascends the stairs again. She can hear Oliver in his room, so she doesn't worry that he's going to run off again. There's a faint light coming through the windows in her room as the sun starts to break the horizon. A few minutes ago, all Thea wanted was to go back to bed. Now, she doesn't think she will be getting any more sleep. She has to consider the possibility that Malcolm has ulterior motives.

Which is hard to do when he's standing across the room. He must have gotten in while she was downstairs.

"Did you follow him?" Thea asks, trying to keep the hint of accusation out of her voice.

"I tried," Malcolm replies. "He's surprisingly slippery."

"Why?"

"Because he's not well. He shouldn't be out on his own."

"He's still a capable adult. I don't see how—"

"Of course you don't. Has it ever occurred to you to wonder why Oliver was gone for six months? What happened to him out there? There are dangerous people who want to hurt him, and he won't be able to protect himself."

"Why do you care?" Thea knows how it sounds, but she's nothing if not blunt.

Malcolm makes a show of looking hurt, and Thea doesn't know whether to believe it or not. "Oliver is like a son to me," he says.

It's too much. "A _son_?" Thea scoffs. "We all know what happened to your _son_."

Malcolm's expression hardens. "Just keep closer watch over him. And be careful about his friends. They may not be so _friendly_."

**~oOo~**

Eventful doesn't begin to describe Tommy's night. As he sips tepid coffee and watches his father leaving Thea's apartment building, he starts to wonder when any of these people sleep. Malcolm looks around once before getting into the waiting car as if he knows someone is watching him. Tommy will have to be more careful. He wasn't caught this time, but he can't afford to be sloppy.

The car pulls away and any inclination to follow it evaporates as Tommy gazes at the building across the street. He knows he can't go there yet. Oliver isn't ready, and Thea is still a risk. After six months of waiting, Tommy should be used to it, but he has to fight back the urge to drop in on Oliver now. He tells himself it will only be a little longer.

Tossing his coffee cup into a nearby trash can, Tommy turns and walks away from the building. He has to sleep and plan his next move. At the back of his mind, he worries about what his father might be up to. Whatever it is, it can't be good, and Tommy intends to find out sooner rather than later.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so grateful for the positive response to this story. I promise some action soon. Probably in the next chapter. I've got a better idea of where things are going now, and I'll probably be using a bit of what's going on in the show, but in my own way. Let me know what you think.<br>**


	4. The Forgotten

**Chapter Three "The Forgotten"**

Oliver has nightmares. For the past six months, they've been getting worse. He sleeps fewer hours every night, and he's not sure how long this can go on.

The dreams always feature two things: a dark haired child bleeding out in his arms and a pair of blue eyes always watching him. The images themselves always fade before he's even fully awake, but the feelings of horror and guilt remain. In some ways, he doesn't want to remember. Not if these are memories seeping through his consciousness.

When he wakes, Oliver can sense a nearby presence. He doesn't know how he knows his sister is watching him, but he doesn't have to turn and face the doorway to know she's there. The clock reads 8:00 am. At least he got a few hours' sleep.

He rolls over to face Thea, and she looks surprised to find that he's awake. "Is this something we do now?" he asks. "Watch each other sleep?"

"Hmm?" Thea asks as if she's been concentrating very hard on something. "No, I was just checking on you. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No." Oliver pushes back the covers and gets out of bed. "I don't sleep much."

"I was able to get you an appointment with a neurologist later today," Thea says conversationally. "It was Laurel's idea."

"That's funny," Oliver said as he pulled open all of his dresser drawers to inspect their contents. "I didn't hear her mention it to you last night."

"I—You were eavesdropping?"

"You _were_ talking about me."

"Well, for your information, she texted me later. She said she forgot to mention it. I suppose because she was too busy being paranoid about Malcolm."

"About your father. The genocidal dead guy."

"I was planning to tell you slowly."

"I'm not angry at you."

"Really? I would be."

Oliver turns back to face his sister. "I know this has to be hard for you too," he says. "I understand why you want to trust him. He saved my life, so I know the feeling. It seems wrong, but..."

"But you think he's got good intentions. Yeah."

"Are we crazy?"

Thea shrugs. "You might be. I think I'm just emotionally traumatized, which could amount to the same thing."

Oliver tosses his clean clothes on the bed and crosses the room to Thea. "Maybe we can't trust him," he says, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Maybe we can't trust anyone else, but at least we still have each other."

Thea nods and blinks hard. "We're broken too, Ollie. I know you don't remember, but we are. I don't know if you trusted me, and I know we kept a lot of secrets from each other. I'm not sure exactly why. I'm all for fixing things, but just because you don't remember them doesn't mean our problems go away."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a ray of sunshine in the morning?"

Thea laughs in spite of herself. "You know," she says. "It's been a long time since you've made a joke."

Oliver smiles. "Then maybe amnesia suits me."

"Yeah, let's just hope you don't have serious brain damage. Not that anyone would be able to tell the difference."

Oliver lets his hands drop from Thea's shoulder and pretends to be offended. "You know, I was going to ask your opinion on what I should wear to have my head examined, but now I won't."

Thea grabs his arm and her eyes widen. "You can't possibly be thinking of wearing that shirt with those pants," she says in mock horror.

Oliver backs away from her to pick up his clothes. "Yeah, and tomorrow it's gonna be stripes and plaids."

Thea rolls her eyes. "Ha! You never wear stripes and you _barely _wear plaid."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I notice these things. You stick to solid, muted colors. Part of your whole brooding thing, I think."

"I don't brood."

"Yes you do! All the time."

Oliver thinks about that for a moment. She's probably right. He doesn't know what he was like before, but considering all the horrible stuff that happened—most of which he hasn't even heard about yet—maybe he has a good reason to be brooding. But he doesn't have to like it.

"Maybe I should stop doing that," he says, looking down at the jeans and blue shirt in his hand.

"It's not like I blame you," Thea says with a shrug. "Get dressed and we can go for breakfast before your appointment."

The way she ends the conversation makes Oliver think about all the things everyone isn't telling him. He knows what happened before but not why. He thinks he doesn't want to know why, but at times his curiosity out screams his dread.

**~oOo~**

Coffee and doughnuts seems like the best way to break the news in Felicity's mind. Last night, she told Roy and Diggle that Oliver was alive and that she would explain everything. At the moment, that seems like an optimistic promise.

As she stands in the middle of the Arrow Cave and gazes at the familiar landscape, Felicity feels a sense of displacement. She knows she belongs here, but not without Oliver. Not knowing when or if he will be back to himself leaves her in a strange state of limbo which doesn't feel much different from the last six months.

A set of clunking footsteps draws Felicity out of her thoughts.

"You know, I'm really more of a night person," Roy quips as he comes into the room.

Felicity smiles and hands him his coffee. "I think you can make an exception this once," she says.

"For you?" he smiles back.

"For Oliver." Felicity looks away from Roy and distracts herself by picking at the cardboard drink carrier.

Roy puts his free hand on Felicity's shoulder. The movement is so sudden, that it causes her to look at him again.

"Hey," he says softly. "It's good to see you again."

Looking unto his eyes, Felicity knows he can tell something's wrong. He's waiting for Diggle to show up before asking what's going on, but she can see that he wants to.

"Thanks," she says. "I honestly didn't think about it. It feels like everything is happening so quickly."

Roy lets go of Felicity's shoulder and reaches for the bag of pastries. "We'll figure it out," he says. "We always do."

Felicity had forgotten how much she missed Roy. He was like the little brother she never had. He had been there for her when Oliver "died", but she hadn't seen him much since she decided not to be part of the team anymore.

"You know when Dig is getting here?" Felicity asks as she walks over to the computer desk.

"I didn't talk to him," Roy replies through a mouthful of jelly doughnut. "He hasn't been around either."

Felicity nods more to herself than anything. She runs her fingers along the keyboard and notices that someone has been dropping food crumbs between the keys. "You've been eating at my computer," she says, only half joking.

"Not sure you can really say 'your computer' anymore," Roy responds. "It's not like I enjoy using them, but Laurel doesn't have the patience."

Felicity turns back to face Roy. "I'm sure you've done your best."

He nods noncommittally. "I picked up a few things from you. I can track a GPS signal and hack somebody's Facebook profile, but that's about it."

Felicity raises her eyebrows. "Whose facebook have you been hacking?"

"Persons of interest. You'd be surprised how much information they just leave out there in the open."

"I really wouldn't, but I just wanted to be sure you're using your powers for good."

"Always." Roy picks up his coffee and takes a long drink, ending it with a sigh. "I know how much you hate bringing people coffee, but you're really, _really _good at it."

Felicity has to laugh as she remembers her her time as Oliver's assistant. Roy hadn't been around for all of that, but Oliver must have told him about it. It was almost a comforting thought that Oliver talked about her when she wasn't around.

"I guess I can make an exception now and then," Felicity says.

Just then, the sound of the door opening causes Felicity to look up and see Diggle coming down the stairs.

"I miss anything?" he asks as he crosses the room to the table where Roy is standing.

"Just first pick of the doughnuts," Felicity says, punctuating it with a smile.

Diggle picks up his coffee and nods to Felicity. "So what's the news? Where's Oliver?"

Felicity sighs, not really want to talk about it because that makes it real. She'd rather just be joking around with the guys like old times. But things would never be the same, and she had to get used to that.

"He doesn't remember anything," Felicity says. "Nothing from the past eight years since the ship went down."

"Damn," Roy says under his breath.

"Does he know what happened to him when he left?" Diggle asks.

Felicity shakes her head. "All he knows is he was on a mountain somewhere and Malcolm Merlyn saved his life."

"That's... unsettling," Roy says.

"Just a little," Felicity replies. "Laurel and I tried to bring him up to date last night, but we kinda left out the part about running around in a green hood shooting criminals with arrows. I didn't know how to explain it because I don't think any of us really knows fully why he chose to start doing it."

"But he does know Merlyn is a monster?" Diggle asks.

"Yeah, he didn't take it all that well. When I left Laurel's place he was sort of... catatonic."

"That's not like him. You think Ra's al Gul did something to him, or was it Merlyn?"

Felicity shrugs. "Could be both. He says Merlyn helped him heal from an injury. Someone stabbed him."

"Then Ra's might think he's dead," Roy suggests. "That could be a good thing."

Felicity crosses her arms. "Possibly the only good thing here. Aside from Oliver being alive at all."

"So where is he now?" Diggle asks.

"With Thea. Laurel said they were going to see a doctor today, just in case Oliver's amnesia was caused by an injury."

"Knowing how many head wounds you get in this line of work?" Roy said. "I'd be surprised if it's not."

Felicity frowns thoughtfully. "With Malcolm Merlyn involved, I'd be surprised if it _is_."

**~oOo~**

Sitting alone in the waiting room, skimming through a tattered magazine is actually kind of relaxing for Thea. It probably says something about how screwed up her life is that she finds the hospital to be such a normal place. She can't count the number of times she's been here in the past few years. From Oliver's accidents to her own escapades to Walter's return, the hospital almost feels more homey than her own home did in the last days she spent there. Thea likes to think she's moving on from all that, but being here brings back a lot of memories.

As if to give her something else to think about, three new occupants enter the waiting room and come straight toward her. Thea didn't tell any of them they would be here, but Laurel probably passed on the information. And in spite of Malcolm's warning, Thea isn't exactly upset that Oliver's friends decided to stop by.

"We've all got to stop meeting like this," Thea says, tossing the magazine back on the coffee table.

"Is Oliver okay?" Felicity asks.

"Define 'okay'. He's having a brain scan right now. I guess we'll find out."

Felicity sits down beside Thea while the guys take a couple of chairs across from them. Thea can't help thinking about how she's never really been "in" with these people. She knows they're Oliver's friends—which is weird considering that Roy was her boyfriend—but she's not entirely sure why. They don't seem to have a lot in common. Oliver is, well Oliver. Felicity is some kind of genius who speaks in word vomit which is actually really cute. Diggle is an ex-military, no nonsense type of guy. And then there's Roy who Thea knows better than he probably thinks she does. He thinks of himself as the loner, dropout who never caught a break. But he's more than that. Thea just wishes he wasn't quite such a hero.

The awkward silence that falls is to be expected. Thea doesn't really have anything to say to them, and they are the ones who have been keeping Oliver's secrets all this time. They're not about to start being honest with her now.

"Thea, do you know what happened to Oliver?" Diggle finally asks, sounding all businesslike.

Thea shrugs. "He came home with a new scar," she says. "Looks like a stab wound. Malcolm saved his life. That's all I know."

At the mention of her father's name, it was as if a chill spread through the room. There was a tension in the air that wasn't there before.

"I know you all hate him," Thea adds. "I'm not saying he's not up to something. I mean, maybe he just cares about Oliver, but I don't know. He said Oliver was like a son to him, and..."

"And we all know how well that turned out for his _actual_ son," Diggle fills in with a humorless smirk.

"That's kind of what I told him. Is that a terrible thing to say to your father?"

"When your father murdered 503 people, I think the bar is kinda low," Felicity says flatly.

As if this conversation weren't awkward enough.

"It'd be great if Malcolm was sincere," Roy says in an even tone. "But we don't know."

The way Roy says it makes it seem like he does know but just wants to make Thea feel better. She doesn't appreciate it, but it's not like she can argue with him now without causing a scene in the waiting room. Normally, she wouldn't mind, but it might upset Oliver if he walked in on something like that. Especially since he had no clue who these people were or that they really did care about him. At least, Thea was pretty sure they did. They wouldn't be here if they didn't. And it was kind of painfully obvious that there was something between Felicity and Oliver that went both ways. Before Oliver lost his memory anyway.

Another period of silence falls over the room, but this time, Thea is too busy thinking to feel awkward. She doesn't know what she is going to do about Oliver's friends. He would have wanted her to bring them in on whatever this is if he could remember them. But the fact that he can't will probably make him uncomfortable around them or at the very least, confused. How is he supposed to trust these people when he doesn't know them? And how is Thea supposed to trust them when they keep so much from her?

When Oliver comes into the waiting room, he looks exhausted. He's looked like that for a long time, but somehow this seems worse. Thea gets up and crosses the room to him, hoping to create some kind of buffer between him and all the awkwardness that is about to ensue.

"What's they say?" she asks, trying not to sound too anxious.

"They'll call me with the results," Oliver replies. "They said I have had several head injuries and—hello?"

Oliver seems to have just noticed they have an audience. Or perhaps he was pretending not to notice until now.

"Uh, yeah," Thea says. "You met Felicity last night, and this is Diggle and Roy."

The way they're staring, Oliver must feel like a bug under a microscope.

"Hey man," Diggle says. "How you feeling?"

Oliver gets that all too familiar deer in the headlights look at an apparent stranger talking to him like a friend.

"Fine," Oliver finally says—which isn't true, but it's very Oliver.

Diggle knows it, but he doesn't press. He seems to sense that he's making Oliver uncomfortable and backs off.

"I think we should go back to my place and talk," Thea says. "I'll order pizza or something."

"I have to get to work," Felicity says with a touch of disappointment in her voice. "I'll stop by later though."

Oliver looks almost sad to see her go. Maybe meeting once was enough to establish some kind of familiarity between them. Thea isn't sure how they became friends in the first place, but she has a feeling it must have been like that. Oliver didn't let people in, period. Felicity must have been special.

**~oOo~**

Taking a trip down memory lane sounds like the last thing Oliver wants to be doing right now. The guy who talked to him at the hospital—Diggle—genuinely unnerves Oliver. The way he spoke with such blatant concern when Oliver had no idea who he was... well, it was exactly like waking up and having your family and friends replaced by strangers.

On a practical level, Oliver knows that spending time with these people could help him remember who he is; but on a more selfish level, he doesn't want to. He wants to be alone more than anything else in the world which is shocking to him because he's spent most of his life trying to avoid solitude. Before the shipwreck, he did everything he could to keep from hearing himself think because then he might know what a useless human being he was. But now, it's as if he needs that time alone. He needs to think so he can plan his next move. Whatever the hell that means.

Perhaps it's for the best that Oliver is forced to sit through lunch with his new/old friends. The younger one—Roy—barely talks at all while Diggle tells Oliver about their first meeting and how obnoxious he was. That Oliver believes.

"I really knocked you out?" Oliver says, not sure how much Diggle might be embellishing.

"You really did," Diggle replies, dead serious. "Your social skills left something to be desired when you came back from the island."

Oliver doesn't really want to know what happened to him to cause that, and thankfully he never seems to have told anyone because they don't elaborate.

"Obviously I grew on you though," Oliver says, doing his best to keep the conversation light.

Diggle huffs. "Yeah, like a persistent bacteria."

"Bacterium," Roy suddenly says.

"What?" Diggle replies.

"Bacteria is plural."

Everyone stares at Roy for a moment and his face turns a little red as he looks away from them.

"I liked science in high school—before I dropped out," he defends.

"You never told me that," Thea says.

"I didn't exactly want to talk about it."

"I did too," Oliver says. "Like science, I mean."

"Is that why you two became friends after we broke up?" Thea asks, raising her eyebrows.

"I have no idea."

Roy only shrugs.

While Diggle is becoming clearer, Roy maintains a sense of mystery. Maybe he just doesn't like talking, or thinks he has nothing to say. Oliver can sense a measure of insecurity with him, though he's not sure how. Since when did he get so good at reading people?

At this point, the pizza is all gone, and Thea begins to clear away the plates. As Oliver watches her, he remembers something that seems odd to him. Why did Felicity go to work and the others didn't? Why are they sitting here in the middle of the afternoon on a workday like it's nothing? And why does Oliver even notice? He hasn't worked a day in his life. That he remembers.

"So, Diggle you're in security. What about you, Roy?" he asks, thinking it's an innocent question.

Roy looks even more uncomfortable than before. "Oh, you know. Stuff."

"Come on," Thea says. "Everyone knows. You might as well tell him."

"Tell me what?" Oliver asks.

"That he works with the Arrow," Thea says with a smirk.

"What's that?"

"Not what," Diggle says. "Who."

"He helps people," Roy says, still sounding defensive. "He saved my life more than once."

"He's a vigilante," Thea clarifies. "But the police like him because he fights the bad guys and saves the good guys. Most of the time."

"And the rest of the time?"

"Well, no one can save everyone, I guess. He's only one man."

"Not if he's got Roy," Oliver points out.

"True. I think he's got other friends, but Roy won't tell on them."

"It's dangerous," Roy says. His discomfort with this conversation hasn't abated. "It's better if no one knows who we are. It keeps them safe."

"But Thea said everyone knows who you are," Oliver says.

"Uh, yeah, I wasn't exactly subtle when I started out. I mean, not everyone knows, but the police and a few other people. It's not like I got any family the bad guys can target."

Oliver doesn't know what to make of all this. He's friends with a member of a team of vigilantes. Maybe it has some connection to the Undertaking or his mother's death. No one seems to want to explain how that all makes sense, and Oliver doesn't have the mental energy to ask about it right now.

"We should probably get going," Diggle says to Roy. "Maybe next time you can help him with that meditation thing."

"Yeah, what's that all about?" Oliver asks.

"Something you taught me when I needed to remember something," Roy said vaguely. "I'll explain later."

By all appearances, Roy can't wait to get out of there, and Diggle has obviously picked up on this. Oliver kind of wishes they had been more specific, but he's glad he finally has the chance to be alone.

"I think I'm gonna go for a walk or something," he tells Thea after the others leave.

She looks up at him from loading the dishwasher. "You shouldn't go out alone."

"Just around the block, Speedy," Oliver says earnestly. "I need some fresh air and quiet for a while.'

Thea seems reluctant to agree, but finally nods. "If you're not back in an hour, I'm coming after you."

Oliver smiles at her. "Thanks."

**~oOo~**

The cool fall air feels like home when Oliver steps out onto the street. Thea's apartment is nice, but it somehow seems like Oliver is a guest there. He's not sure if he felt that way before he forgot everything, but he almost believes he did.

The sidewalks are quiet as the late afternoon sun begins to fade. Soon enough there will be endless lines of five o'clock traffic. For now, Oliver enjoys the peaceful sensation that he knows is just a facade, a disguise of smooth concrete and shimmering glass to hide the truth of how ugly this city has become. Perhaps it has always been this way.

Across the street, there's a parking garage with signs over the entrance saying it's closed for repairs. Everything else on this block is in pristine condition as if it has all just been made. Oliver doesn't know why he notices this. Before he can contemplate it any further, a scream echoes through the empty street. It sounds like a woman, and she's crying for help from inside the parking garage. There's no one else around, which Oliver knows without needing to look. He doesn't even think about what he's doing until he's crossed the street and starts to look for a way inside. It's easy enough to push aside the signs and climb over the barrier.

Inside, everything is dark, and the screams are louder. Oliver follows the sound, not knowing what he'll do, but not worried about it either. He feels more angry than nervous which is a strangely welcome relief. He can do something with anger.

Oliver finds the stairs to the second level where he thinks the noise is coming from. There's more light coming in from outside when he comes out of the stairwell, but it's disappearing fast.

"Hey!" he shouts.

The screaming continues, but oddly there are no other sounds. That can't be right.

Oliver comes around one of the support pillars to find an empty space. There's no one here. The sound is coming from a speaker that's duct taped to another pillar. Oliver rips it off the wall and throws it on the ground where it cracks, snuffing out the noise. He turns back to face the way he came in only to be greeted with four masked figures. The setup part is pretty obvious, but the _why _is more of a mystery that Oliver doesn't have the luxury of contemplating right now.

The men circle around him slowly, as if treating him with caution. It makes Oliver wonder what kind of a person he was before his trip to the mountains. The man directly facing Oliver draws a sword and the others follow suit.

"It will better if you come quietly," the leader says. His voice has a quality Oliver feels he should recognize, but he doesn't.

"Haven't you noticed?" Oliver says. "Getting stabbed with swords is something I do now."

The man hesitates, which Oliver really hadn't been expecting. That fraction of a second's pause makes all the difference. There's a low grunt from behind, and something wet hits the back of Oliver's neck. He turns to see another man standing over the body of one of the masked swordsmen. This newcomer is wearing a dark blue jacket with a hood that covers his face. The other two would be kidnappers rush at him, and Oliver finds himself facing the leader alone.

He manages to duck the first blow, using the skills Malcolm taught him. In the process, Oliver notices that the man is using the flat part of the blade. He's not trying to kill Oliver. There isn't time to wonder why as the sword comes around again. Oliver jumps back, but the tip cuts into his right shoulder and across his chest. He falls backward and lands hard on the concrete floor, scraping his hands and forearms on the rough surface. There's blood running all over his shirt, and Oliver is starting to reconsider the idea that this guy doesn't want him dead. He tries to think of anything he could say to make this stop, but he doesn't know why it's happening. He doesn't know if maybe he deserves this.

The man pulls off his mask, revealing a face Oliver doesn't know. He looks angry and sad all at once as he points his sword at Oliver's throat.

_It's me or him_, Oliver thinks.

He leans back with his head almost touching the floor, and at the same time kicks the man's hands as hard as he can, sending the sword flying across the parking garage. Oliver then leaps to his feet and uses his momentum to tackle the man. He wraps his arm around the man's neck, and it's like a reflex to bring his other hand to the man's forehead and twist.

It happens so fast, Oliver doesn't really know how he got here. He's standing over the body of a stranger with black, dead eyes staring up at him. Oliver wants to throw up, but he pushes it down far too easily. He forces himself to look around and finds that the man in blue is still standing. He holds two long knives, covered in blood as he turns to face Oliver.

"What do you want?" Oliver demands before this guy can attack him too.

Instead, hood guy only laughs. "That's the thanks I get for saving your ass?" he says. His voice is rough like he ate a few strips of sandpaper, but it's one Oliver would know anywhere.

"Tommy?"

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so sorry for how long this took. I kept working on it little bits at a time, but it's been hard to get big chunks done lately. I'm working on a writing schedule that I'll try to implement next week which should help with that. I want to say a huge thank you to all the great reviewers I've had. I appreciate every comment so much. The support has been overwhelming, and I hope this chapter is worth the wait.<strong>


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